Candle
by Coldens
Summary: A character study of Lady Macbeth, through a retelling of the events of Macbeth from her point of view. Not line for line, but there will be quotes. Short chapters.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own Macbeth. It belongs to one Mr. William Shakespeare. Although, I would gladly marry the aforementioned playwright and inherit his second-best bed. =)_

_---_

_-Prologue-_

"_Lady!"_

_My story is a sinful one. One that would curdle the blood of any mortal with less ambition than I._

"_Lady!"_

_And yet, I cannot say that it shames me. I've woven enough lies into my life as it is._

"_Lady!"_

_I remember the feeling of falling. Falling through darkness so thick that it strained my eyes. There was no emotion, no life-memories flickering before me. Any guilt had been blown away by the air surging passed as the ground called me home._


	2. Part 1 Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:__ I don't own anything. What you recognize belongs to the genius of Shakespeare, and what you don't probably belongs to the history books._

**Part One**

-1-

"Lady! A messenger!"

I am startled from my reverie by the servant's cry. There is no rush for the door, no whisking of skirts hurrying through the halls. Likely the messenger brings word from my husband. Likely a letter telling of his bloody deeds, decorated with his words of love. _Dearest chuck._ It will be the third of its kind received in a fortnight.

No, there is no rush.

I move to the stone casement of my window slowly, to show my maids that I am not flustered - that I am in control of both my person as well as the going-ons of our castle whilst my husband is away.

Indeed, a rider approaches dust rising behind him each time his mount lifts her feet. It would seem that _he _believes that there is need for haste.

What tidings, I think, will he bring me? Shall he declaim of all the valiant traits my dearest possesses? Tell a tale of his worthy actions; how he defeated the Norweayan army single-handed, before placing the rolled parchment before me with a sweeping bow for the Lady?

What ever he shall say, most will not be news, I am certain. What praise of 'Worthy Macbeth' could he possibly impart that I have not already sung myself?

The matter can wait a while longer.


	3. Part 1 Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: As always, I do not own the play on which this story is based. That, and any quotes you recognize belong to Shakespeare. _

-2-

This evening passed did not proceed as I had expected. It was full of such strange things -- and yet so wonderful. My heart has not yet slowed, and I have kept alone all the morning to contemplate what has happened.

I did descend to greet that peculiar messenger. I stood erect, as a Lady must be, politely disinterested and yet rapt by the details, listening as he glorified Macbeth. I accepted the letter silently, bowed my head for thanks, and sought to candlelight and a cup of spirits to read it.

I read it. And again, I read it. I recall hearing nothing but the blood running in my veins, and I could not process anything I had read. There was an instant of panic, an agonized bile in my throat, and then -- ignoring the servants' concern (_Lady, are you ill?)_ -- I retreated here. And have remained here since.

I have not slept, have not eaten. My candle's wick burnt out long ago; the wax has stained my skirts. My husband's words hang before me, though the letter is put safely away:

"_They met me in the day of success, and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the King, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor,' by which title before, these wayward sisters saluted me and referred me to the coming on of time with 'Hail, King that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not the dues of rejoicing by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell."_

"My dear Glamis, sweet Cawdor, it is you who are ignorant!"

Pacing, I speak to the midmorning sky, bathed in pink light as the blue washes away the red bloodbath of recent events.

I speak to my silent candle, wilted and pathetic there on the window ledge. There is none but me to hear these thoughts, and it's probably for the best. Lately, I have taken to speaking aloud in my solitude. As if birthing the thoughts as words would make them substantial.

Treason. That is what they are. _Treason_.

Sweet, sweet Thane. He thinks that I cannot see this 'burning desire' that he harbors, his longing for greatness, for things that are not so far above him as he thinks. But I can read him as a priest reads the Bible every feast day. It's in his every action, every thought that crosses his face.

And yet…

Yet, he cannot do what must be done. He knows _what_ he must do, but I fear he will be unable to do it. Were he here, it would not be such a difficult thing to bring him to my way of thinking. It's not as though we haven't discussed the possibility in the past; the seeds of thought are already planted, it would simply be a matter of watering them.

He would listen, would hear my words.

"Hie thee hither, Thane -"

A sudden thumping ay my door echoes through my head, cutting off any other thoughts or words, and I find myself scrambling breathlessly to admit the caller. Could it be my Macbeth; heard he my summons?


	4. Part 1 Chapter 3

-3-

Nothing but a servant. I allow myself an unladylike sigh.

"What is your tidings?" I fear I am too brusque with this servant-boy - it cannot be his fault, after all – but I have no patience for interruptions apart from my husband's return. The boy is shaking though, and I feel a short pang of guilt.

Would my own son have resembled him now, had he lived past his childhood?

A grimace.

I thought that I had hardened myself against such imaginings.

"The King comes here tonight." My ears deceive me. They must. Fate could not be so kind and so cruel to play into my scheme so easily. This is madness. What's more, he seems to be telling me that our Thane has been sighted approaching the castle. Good boy, smart boy if it's true.

I dismiss him, and once again resume my pacing.

I know that my eyes must be wild and feverish, my mouth shapes itself into a grin, and I am once again glad for this solitude. My wish may yet be granted.

I hear myself speaking again; I plead with those vile spirits whose names I do not know, and make a silent vow. I will see that Macbeth will do what needs to be done, and if he does not, I will do it for him.

Duncan's death arrives with my Thane's footsteps outside my door.

My husband has barely latched the door ere I commence the temptation. He would speak of it further at another time, but I will hear none of it. He must not arouse the King's suspicions; I will do the rest.


	5. Part 1 Chapter 4

-4-

The sun has not yet been down an hour, and already I can see the hesitations on my Thane's precious face, so unlike his cousin's whose hearth I once shared. Now we share our hearth for a time with one who shall soon follow the unfortunate Gillecomgain into the unknown, though my husband, Duncan's host, has been missing from the festivities nearly all evening.

Music plays as we dine as Fleance, Banquo's young son, sings us a merry ditty in celebration of the Norweyans' defeat. Tumblers in bright costume dance jigs before us, sometimes even rolling about on the filthy floor before our table. Smiles and jovial tones and compliments surround me, and I accept them graciously as a hostess should, but I find that I cannot touch my meal. The scent of the roasted pork makes my stomach twist as the enormity of what we plan to do finally makes itself visible to me. The realization makes me bitter, and I become angry.

I excuse myself from the table, saying that I need air. And for once, I do not speak falsely.


	6. Part 1 Chapter 5

-5-

Outside, I find Macbeth. He stands against a wooden rail, bearded face t'wards the sky. For a brief moment I could have sworn that I heard him uttering his thoughts into the darkness, but now again he is silent. When he sees me, he asks if the King has asked for him. Such a fool. He is having doubts again! His fear poisons his resolve.

I can feel my anger rising. It boils the blood in me and only strengthens my ambition. Macbeth will be King, and I his Queen!

"Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valour as thou art in desire?" I know I'm being heartless, I realize it even as I say the words, but I am powerless to stop them, and my voice takes on a harsher tone. "Wouldst thou have that which thou esteemest the ornament of life and live a coward in thine own esteem, letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would' like the poor cat in the adage?"

I have angered him, and he retorts, but there's no real conviction in his voice, "I dare do all that may become man. Who dares do more is none."

Though the two of us were not meant to be wed to the other, we seldom argue and usually find peace in each other's companionship. It is for this reason that I'm startled by the words that once again come from my mouth, unbidden. I find myself speaking to him of promises and oaths that he has made, reminding him of all the times previous when we discussed these possibilities.

"If we should fail?" Timid.

"If we should fail, we fail! But, have you courage, and we'll not fail." I soften my voice, and quiet my anger. Reaching to grasp his neck in that which might appear to be a gesture of comfort, I am once again the image of the perfect Lady. "Wait until Duncan is asleep; it should not be long after a day spent traveling and feasting. Who would dare think otherwise, as we shall make our griefs and clamour roar upon his death?"

"Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know."

It begins.


	7. Part 1 Chapter 6

-6-

The trap is set.

I have made all the possible preparations necessary to ensure that nothing will go amiss.

Soon after Duncan retired for the night, I went to the two grooms who guarded his chambers, in guise of offering them a final cup of spirits for the evening. In truth, the whiskey secreted a powerful sleeping draught taken from my store of elixirs. The two were asleep mere moments after drinking.

Afterwards, I took the daggers from their waists, and laid them at ready by the King's beside, in such a way that my dearest Thane could not miss them. The only further thing I could have done would have been to kill the king myself.

I considered it.

I spent long minutes watching him as he slept, urging my arm to move, for it seemed frozen, and bring the blade down into him.

But I could not bring myself to do it. The resemblance between him and my father was too great. I would not murder he who sired me, and so I could not.

Now, the death bells are sounded and there is nothing to do but wait, cloaked by the night's blanket.

And this night is a dark one. Not even the moon shines her light; her face is hidden behind the clouds, and the stars have not risen. The better for our cause, though. If our deeds cannot be seen, then who's to say that it was we who did them?

I hear the crickets' chirping and an owl's call. I hear my own breathing, so loud in this near-silence that I feel as though I should hear nothing else. But then I jump!

A voice is within!

Have they awoken? I fear that they have found us out and the deed is not yet done! It will be the attempt, and not the deed itself, that condemns us.

A shiver of alarm creeps up my spine.

Someone approaches.

**Disclaimer : I may not own Shakespeare or his works, but I can dream.**


	8. Part 1 Chapter 7

-7-

The shadow comes closer and closer, bearing down upon me as if it knew where I am hidden. It is large and moves with a slow stiffness like something from a nightmare. It creeps, creeps forward.

A limb reaches out from the mass of its form. A hand reaching for me!

With effort, I bite back a shrill scream as it comes into what little light I have found, and I fear the worst. I fear that it—

Sweet salvation!

It is only my husband! This night will leave its stain on me, mark my words.

He stops before me, his hands outstretched. A red stickiness covers his flesh, glinting sickly even now. It is done, then.

Macbeth appears changed for what he has done. No longer does he strut upright; rather, his pace appears a meek crawl, his back hunched like a bellman.

But that is no great importance. He speaks again, and I can hear the ache in his voice. It cracks, something I've never heard, and he raises his hands before his eyes to stare.

"As I was passing, Duncan's guards stirred. One of them cried 'Murder!' in his sleep, and woke the other. I stood and watched, but they said their prayers and slept once more. In their prayers, one cried 'God bless us!' to which the other replied 'Amen'.

"But I could not pronounce 'Amen' when they called on God to bless us." He looks so shaken by the ordeal that I am moved, though he will not see it. Instead of embracing him as I should, I choose to retort rather sharply.

"Consider it not so deeply. These deeds must not be thought after these ways. So, it will make us mad." What I have said was spoken in the way of a reprimand, but I believe it to be the truth with every fiber of my being. I do not mean to think on our deeds. It seems, however, that my dearest husband is not willing to let me forgot so easily.

"Whilst I was there, methought I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep,' – the innocent sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care." His eyes are wide; I can see that even in this light, and his voice shakes. And still I cannot bring myself to comfort him, for it comforts me to see that I am not the one who has become undone by this.

"You do unbend your noble strength, worthy Thane, to think so brainsickly of things. Go, get some water and wash this filthy witness from your hands, and-" I stop cold, my words stilled. My heart pounds in my bosom.

The fool!

He brought those bloody daggers with him!

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine! Dialogue and characters belong to Shakespeare.


	9. Part 1 Chapter 8

-8-

"Fool! The daggers! You brought the daggers with you?" I am the one who is shaking now. "Go quickly! Take them back! Return them before they awake! Go, smear the sleepy grooms with the blood to cement their guilt." My voice is a shrill whisper. I wring my hands anxiously in the fold of my skirt while I wait for Macbeth to react. His answer surprises me.

"I'll go no more. I dare not look on it again." Though he turns his face away, his bearing returns to almost normal and he stands with his feet braced as if to hold his ground in a battle. Perhaps my husband is not so bound by my person as he would have had me think...

"Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers; the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures." I add this last as a reminder for myself, not as chiding t'ward my husband as I would have him believe.

As I depart from his side daggers in hand, the crimson wetness covering my skin, a knock sounds within.

I must hurry!

* * *

_Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Any dialogue you recognize is taken from the play._


	10. Part 1 Chapter 9

-9-

I came to Duncan's chambers with every intension of adorning the guards with the king's blood, laying the daggers in their hands, and leaving. That was my plan.

However, when it happened that I arrived, I could feel a morbid curiosity overcoming me. I place the daggers for the second time tonight, and, trying not to think about what I am about to do, approach the bed.

There the king lies. His eyes are still closed and his features are so composed that I might have thought him simply sleeping were it not for the puddle of blood that lay beneath him on the sheet, gathering even now. The resemblance to my father is still there, and I begin to tremble.

I stumble blindly from the room, vomiting discretely in the muck that covers the ground before returning to my husband.


End file.
